15. The Clockwork Parade

​(Verse) The street-sweeper’s a tank with a broom made of wire The radiator’s clicking out a code for the fire We’re marching on the asphalt, we’re keeping to the beat With the rhythm of the pistons beneath the concrete Don’t look at the sky, it’s a canvas of lead Just count all the shadows that are following the dead The brass band is rusting, the notes are all sharp I’m playing out my panic on a tension-wire harp. ​(Chorus) It’s a clockwork parade in the belly of the rust We’re grinding all our memories into mechanical dust The gears are all screaming, the oil’s running thin And the gate’s swinging open, but nobody’s coming in Yeah, march on, march on, to the sound of the steam It’s the beautiful decay of a broken machine. ​(Verse) The pigeons are copper, the clouds are made of tin The sergeant’s got a smile that’s built for the sin He’s passing out the rations of static and bone While the city’s on the line with a dial-tone phone I seen the moon stutter, I seen the sun blink We’re all running out of the capacity to think The drill sergeant’s shouting, but he’s lost his own tongue And the air is tasting bitter where the lanterns are hung. ​(Chorus) It’s a clockwork parade in the belly of the rust We’re grinding all our memories into mechanical dust The gears are all screaming, the oil’s running thin And the gate’s swinging open, but nobody’s coming in Yeah, march on, march on, to the sound of the steam It’s the beautiful decay of a broken machine. ​(Verse) The blueprints are burning, the ink’s turning black We’re riding on the rails of a dead-end track The factory whistle is a cry for the light But we’re locked in the gears of an infinite night The rivets are popping, the floorboards are shaking With the sound of the world that we’re constantly breaking Step in time, step in time, don’t trip on the wire We’re the fuel for the furnace, we’re the spark for the fire. ​(Chorus) It’s a clockwork parade in the belly of the rust We’re grinding all our memories into mechanical dust The gears are all screaming, the oil’s running thin And the gate’s swinging open, but nobody’s coming in Yeah, march on, march on, to the sound of the steam It’s the beautiful decay of a broken machine. ​(Bridge) (Distorted brass hits like gunshots. The metallic percussion accelerates into a frantic, repetitive clatter. The piano is prepared, sounding like a typewriter hitting iron.) One for the rhythm! Two for the shame! Three for the city that forgot its own name! It’s a breakdown! A structural glitch! Flip the lever! Burn the switch! ​(Verse) The parade’s gonna stall when the mainspring snaps And we’re all gonna fall through the structural gaps So polish your brass, boy, and stand in the row We’re the last of the puppets with nowhere to go The silence is coming, it’s loud as a train And it’s washing the soot from the ghost of my brain March on, march on, till the gears turn to sand In the palm of a cold, metallic, mechanical hand. ​(Chorus) It’s a clockwork parade in the belly of the rust We’re grinding all our memories into mechanical dust The gears are all screaming, the oil’s running thin And the gate’s swinging open, but nobody’s coming in Yeah, march on, march on, to the sound of the steam It’s the beautiful decay of a broken machine.